Goro: We Do Our Best
When the cake was demolished, and the buzz of sugar and conversation wore off, and people were drifting away sleepily, and Mishka cracked Hansel up to bed for a nap— That, at long last, was when Goro got his walk alone. He went through Amari's garden on his way out to the lake. It had gotten so damn pretty since she moved in and started tending to it, just like he'd known it would. He didn't really give two shits about flowers, but he'd been so fucking adamant that she be the one in charge of the garden. It was the only damn thing she ever did for herself. Everything else, all her waking hours, were spent helping other people. Shit, she probably even thought of the garden as something that helped others—brought them peace, or whatever. But it brought her peace, too. Brought a smile to her face any time she came inside with a bouquet in her arms. At some point in the fifteen years he'd known her, Goro had grown fiercely protective of her love of flowers. She should have as many as she wanted, whenever she wanted. The roses were blooming. Goro couldn't name more than one or two of the types of flowers she grew, but he knew that one, at least. Amari favored brighter varieties—yellows, pinks—but there was one red bush with petals so dark they looked black at the edges. He couldn't help wondering if she'd planted that one for him. He paused and bent down to take a whiff. Pretty good. He'd pick some for his altar on his way back. For now he took just one, for something to do with his hands while he walked. Stabbed himself so deep on the thorns he made his hand bleed. Hey, why not. It was like an offering. He continued to the shore, then walked along it for a while, twirling the stem between his fingers and occasionally bringing it up to sniff again. When he was a good ways from the castle, far enough that the forest came all the way to the water's edge, he climbed up the bank a few feet and settled in between the bushes so he was out of sight. He tossed the rose away, hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face between them, and let out a wail. Marion had told him to spend time with people who loved him and shit. Well, he'd done that. This was a way to let off stress, too. He rocked himself back and forth a little, like a fucking baby that needed soothing. He pulled on his hair. He remembered how he used to hold the Leech when he needed something to grab onto, and god, he missed that fucking thing, and he was scared without it— It was okay. He didn't need it. He was strong. He'd brought Hansel back from the dead. Did it just by himself without any cursed fucking wand. He couldn't muster up any tears, but he kept whimpering like he was crying, anyway. Sound could carry across the water, so he grabbed the collar of his robe and shoved it in his mouth to shut himself up. He bit down on it, naturally. Ah, he was so fucking sick of himself today. Even after an objectively near-perfect afternoon, celebrating his birthday with his family—his family—he was still a mess. Still a goddamn freak. Bad leg, he reminded himself as he switched to biting on the bracelet. If he had a leg that hurt all the time, he'd probably hate it. This guy, Goro Voronin, did a lot of fucking hurting. Was just like having a bad leg. His heart and breathing slowed down after a while. He did feel a little better now. Alright, good to know—he had so many people he loved now, and he loved being with them, but sometimes he still needed a little time alone. The sun had dropped behind the trees when he finally pushed himself up and started back for the castle. He paused in the garden again to pick some roses for his altar. # When he finally returned to the bedroom, he found Hansel fast asleep, and Mishka— Mishka was on the other side of the bed, rolled away from Hansel. Crying. He wasn't making any sound, but his face was red and tear-streaked. He lifted his head when Goro stepped inside, and looked at him for a moment, his expression not changing at all. Then he laid his head back down. Goro stood frozen where he was, gut lurching. The first thought he had was Why didn't he wake Hansel up? Hansel would want to know. Hansel would want to hold Mishka, and kiss and pet his hair, tell him everything was going to be okay. It was a stupid question, he realized. He wouldn't have woken Hansel up, either. He'd just come back from taking a fucking walk by himself in the woods so he could be upset without bothering anybody. Hansel needed to sleep. Goro still thought Mishka would be right to wake him up, but—he couldn't blame him for not having the heart to do it. But Goro didn't need to sleep. He could help Mishka. He took a few halting steps toward the bed, then froze again. He didn't know what to do. He never did. It was even harder with Mishka than with most people, because—Goro'd got it in his head at some point, just before Candlenight, maybe, that he couldn't touch Mishka right without hurting him. He couldn't grab without digging in too hard, and he couldn't move without jerking and thrashing, and he'd seen Mishka flinch one too many times. He remembered lying with Mishka on the couch in the sitting room, and trying to kiss him, and Mishka telling him no, no, we have to wait. I'll make you wait. Sitting on the couch in the bedroom, grabbing Mishka and trying to hold him and—Mishka and Hansel both stopping him. Telling him he had to answer questions first. A fucking trick, a test he didn't have the answers to, dangling the reward out of his reach. It had hurt so bad. Mostly later, after the fact, when he thought back on it and just got that awful crawling feeling, the one that made him want to peel his own skin off to find out if what was underneath was less repellent to people. He was sure Mishka and Hansel hadn't meant it that way. He didn't think they'd known. He was disgusted with himself, too, for hoping he could touch Mishka without asking. Because he also remembered watching, a prisoner in his own body, as Diva made him slam Mishka's head against the floor of the crow's nest. He remembered going out of his fucking mind, cutting his knuckles open on Mishka's teeth when Mishka challenged him to a fistfight. He didn't fucking blame Mishka for flinching. It was old news, all of it. They'd moved on. He and Mishka touched each other all the time now. Incidentally and on purpose. They lived their lives too close together not to. But still, Goro hesitated, feeling that constant push and pull in himself—wanting to touch, feeling like he shouldn't, hating himself for feeling sorry for himself. He didn't know what to do. But he had to do something. He walked the rest of the way to the bed. Mishka stiffened up before Goro even climbed on. Maybe it didn't mean anything. Goro had stiffened up when Luci hugged him. A habit too old to break without conscious effort every time someone new reached out to him. On the other hand, Goro wasn't new. Goro climbing into bed wasn't new. Mishka didn't move. Goro lay down beside him and put an arm around him, carefully guiding Mishka's face toward his chest. Mishka didn't fight him, but he didn't exactly go along with it, either. Every square inch of Goro was screaming. Stop, stop, he doesn't want it, let go, move away, stop it now. But he didn't know if that was right. Sometimes people touched him, and he tensed, and they moved away, and he thought, No, come back. "Don't," Mishka said. Goro let go of him. Rolled onto his back a few inches away. "Okay," was all he said. Should've maybe listened to his gut after all. He wondered if he should be hurt. But honestly, it didn't seem like it. It occurred to him that maybe… maybe Mishka just wasn't like him, in this way. Mishka clearly loved touching and being touched by Hansel, but he didn't seem to hunger and thirst for it the way Goro did. It seemed like he could be content being near Hansel. Being in the same room, talking to him, or just sitting quietly together. Touching was the whipped cream on the pie, as it were. Goro had spent a lot of time observing Mishka and Hansel, and he'd thought maybe that was a function of time. The security they felt in each other, making it so they didn't need to be touching. But Goro and Hansel had been together for most of a year now, and Goro's need to be touching him hadn't diminished at all. It was uncomfortable to be nearby and not be touching. Goro thought maybe for him, touching was the pie, and the whipped cream was whatever else. He remembered saying to Mishka, I don't know how to be this close to you without kissing you, and Mishka had kind of laughed. He'd called Goro a devil from the nine hells, because he thought Goro was trying to tempt him. They just hadn't realized, Goro thought. They were different. And neither of them was wrong; they were just different. Goro wrung his hands together a little. His fingers crawled to his wrist and started playing with his bracelet. He wanted to unhook it and chew on it, but he felt all frozen up again. His shoulders wouldn't move. He wouldn't be able to get the bracelet to his mouth. He was paralyzed by indecision, knowing Mishka wouldn't tell him to leave, but he wouldn't ask him to stay, either. Finally, Goro made himself sit up. He thought it'd be best if maybe—he left, in case Mishka needed the space, but—left him in a way that didn't make him feel alone, somehow. Goro went ahead and brought the bracelet to his mouth, and bit down on it while he thought. He curled around his knees. Hansel… talked a lot, when he was comforting people. So did Mishka. Goro could talk until he was blue in the face, but he didn't know how to make words be comforting so much. His words were challenging. They were analytical. Exploratory. He had done it before, though. It was hard, but he possessed the capability, somewhere. He let the bracelet go, and licked his lips. "I'm… sorry about everything that's happened," he said over his shoulder. "I know—I know you must've…" He was getting some weird kinda stage fright, and the words wouldn't budge, even though he knew what he was trying to say. Then Mishka rolled over and grabbed him, tugging him back down. Goro was so startled, he just froze and blinked for a moment. Mishka pressed his face against Goro's robes. Very gently, Goro petted Mishka's hair. Once. Twice. Then he stopped, in case that was too much. He found his voice again. "I know you must've been real fucking scared, and—you didn't deserve that. That fuckin' Aleksei, he just—" Goro ground his teeth for a second. "Bad fucking luck you got tangled with him, Mishka. Just bad fucking luck. I hate him." Mishka let out a breath. Not a relieved breath, either. He didn't like what Goro was saying. "It wasn't… bad fucking luck, it was… it was…" He couldn't put his words together. He was wound up, cut off, too tight to speak. Goro couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling he knew what was going on in Mishka's head. He just had a fucking feeling. "It was," he said sharply. Maybe too sharply. Amari could do this thing where she sounded firm, but gentle. Like a squeeze of someone's hand. Goro could only dig his nails in. "How the hell else does that kind of shit happen?" Goro could feel the tension that rippled through Mishka. The way his jaw clenched. “I could’ve done something,” Mishka snapped. His grip on Goro tightened. "Nuh uh," Goro said. "I mean—like fuckin' what? You didn't choose to have Aleksei fucking help himself to your life. You chose it like I fuckin' chose having a mother who ditched me in an alley. We do our fucking best, you know? Life throws shit in our face, and we catch it how we can." Goro couldn't quite figure out why that pissed Mishka off, but it did. Mishka just wrapped around him, though. Dug his fingers in possessively. Goro put his arms around him too and carefully kissed his hair. "He’s not gonna lay a fucking hand on you again," Goro said. "I'm glad you're safe now. I'm glad you're here. And I love you." "I love you, too," Mishka muttered. Didn't seem like he wanted to get away. Goro experimented with kissing his hair some more—quick, light kisses, one at a time. Mishka shifted closer to him. He lifted his head to check the door, the way he always did before going to sleep. Then he rested again, closing his eyes. Goro wasn't sure what to think of it all. In a sense, he'd failed, exactly as predicted—not enough comforting with his words. Too much challenging. He felt how the fight had built in Mishka, and how Mishka had maybe just decided to let it go this time. And it shamed him. God, damn, it was true he tried to be a dick sometimes, but this wasn't fucking one of 'em. He closed his eyes and tipped his head forward to rest his nose against Mishka's hair. On the other hand, though. Mishka wasn't crying anymore. He seemed to be dozing off. Wasn't all or nothing, maybe. Not a success, but not a failure, either. Category:Vignettes Category:Goro Category:Lina